A Bird in the Hand
by Destiny Brighthope
Summary: Another tag to "Rodney McKay Runs the Help Desk," written for Dani Wilder on her birthday. Team Sheppard plays poker.


_**Happy Birthday, DaniWilder**! _

_Dear 'ol Des hoped to have the last chapter of Tag to Rodney McKay Runs the Help Desk ready for today. It didn't quite happen, but I still needed to do something to thank a special lady and surrogate internet sister for allowing me to play in her little corner of the Stargate universe (which is much nicer than Stargate: Universe in my less than humble opinion, but I digress)._

_This hastily slapped together story references events depicted in "Rodney McKay Runs the Help Desk," by DaniWilder a story you should already have read. If you haven't, what are you waiting for? And if you're an M-rated connoisseur, feel free to peruse my humble effort "Tag to Rodney McKay Runs the Help Desk." It's not as good as the original, but it has hanky panky._

_**Spoilers:** this story contains heavy spoilers for Help Desk and its tag._

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Disclaimer

_MGM owns Stargate: Atlantis._

_Little ol' Des owns little to nothin'._

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**A Bird in the Hand**

_**by**_

**Destiny Brighthope**

John chewed on his unlit cigar, bemoaning once again that a smokeless poker game is barely a poker game at all. Bad enough that Teyla flatly refused to play if he lit up. Her excuse he could understand. It wouldn't do to go back to a child, stinking of tobacco. But Rodney was another story. His excuse was just plain irritating. Ronon, as usual, didn't care one way or the other.

"Drop the lighter, John," Rodney said. "If I come back smelling like smoke, Jennifer will boot me out of bed."

John had been opening and closing the lid of his lighter, a brushed chrome Zippo embossed with the Air Force crest. It was a nervous habit, and if the others picked up on it, a tell. Damn.

Pretending to study the cards, John quipped, "Can't go angering the missus."

"For the last time, Sheppard, Jennifer and I don't live together."

"Still keeping up the ruse, then?" John nodded. "Good to know."

When Jennifer had approached John and explained her plan to turn a spontaneous invitation for Rodney to meet her in the mess hall into a romantic dinner for two in his quarters, John had been happy to help. His part of the plan was simple: watch for Rodney to arrive in the mess and direct him to the new rendezvous spot.

John had given his friend 50:50 odds on not screwing up with Jennifer. If things went well, John figured, Rodney would gain a pretty, blond girlfriend to accompany him to movie night and dinner once or twice a month—the normal, sedate style of relationship John had come to expect from his friend.

Apparently, things _had_ gone well that night. Very well. At times Rodney and Jennifer seemed practically inseparable. Lunches, dinners, movie nights. More often than not if his team was assembled for an off-duty activity, Jennifer would be right there among them. She'd even horned in on a few guys' night out activities like beer on the pier.

John knew he shouldn't be upset. If cornered, he'd have to admit that even before Jennifer began dating Rodney, she'd hung around his team a lot—to the point that some members of the expedition considered her the team's honorary fifth member. She blushed whenever someone said so, and Rodney grinned like an idiot.

"Dealer takes two," John said, discarding a pair of cards and drawing two more from the deck. Though his face remained neutral, inwardly he groaned. The cards were useless.

"Ten," Rodney said, and tossed a chip into the pot.

Ronon glared at his cards, then at Rodney, then laid his hand face down on the table. Though unspoken, his fold was implied. Teyla called, throwing a ten dollar chip into the pot. John saw the bet and—what the hell—raised twenty.

Rodney dropped his twenty into the pot without hesitation. Teyla folded.

John stared at his best friend's smirk. Since Rodney had no poker face to speak of, his hand must have been good. But how good? John had to know. "So, do you and the missus have joint assets yet?"

"I told you, John—"

" 'Cause I'd hate to take money from a young couple just starting out."

Rodney sneered. "I see your twenty. I raise you—" He paused and tapped his earwig. "McKay."

John could hear faint audio coming in over the radio link. It sounded feminine.

"I'll be there soon." Rodney held up three ten dollar chips and deposited them one at a time into the pot. "Uh-huh, I promise."

John did the same, then added four more.

_Forty!_ Rodney mouthed. His eyes darted to his own dwindling reserve of chips, back to John, and then clouded over. "You're wearing what?"

Snapping out of it, Rodney met gaze Sheppard's again. He dropped forty into the pot. "Call"

John cheerily tossed fifty in another fifty.

Hand shaking, Rodney reached for his chips. "All right, John—" He tilted his head to the side, and a grin spread across his face. "We've never done _that_ before," he muttered. Turning his cards face down on the table, he stood and hastily beat a path to the exit.

"Rodney?" John called.

"I fold," he said, then to the person on the radio, "Don't say things like that. You can't be certain this is a secure line."

After he'd gathered the pot, John couldn't resist taking a peak at Rodney's discarded hand. John grinned. Full house, Queens High. Pretty appropriate when you think about it.

**[end]**

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_"Beer on the pier" is a reference to the McKeller Flash Fiction of the same name by koinekid. No, dear little Des hasn't forgotten about you. Your tags are up next. Promise. ;-)_


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